


God's Design

by IzzyV



Category: Amadeus (1984), Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao, Моцарт и Сальери - Пушкин | Mozart and Salieri - Pushkin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Antonio Salieri, Catholic Guilt, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Mutual Pining, Premature Ejaculation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Top Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzyV/pseuds/IzzyV
Summary: Mozart, not unlike his music, elicited a wide spectrum of reactions on Salieri. The voice of God can't even imagine the depth of his control on Salieri's soul. It was infuriating and charming, and he was getting tired of fighting against desire.
Relationships: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart/Antonio Salieri
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	God's Design

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I got a pretty deep obsession with Mozart L'Opera Rock back in July and I ended up watching Amadeus AND the Russian opera. If I'm truthful, writing this I kinda imagined the MOR boys in the Amadeus story (although I think I mixed everything in my brain, which is why I also tag the Pushkin play). 
> 
> I clarify this because I think I would write a different kind of sexual encounter if I were to write the Amadeus' men. Maybe someday. However, you can imagine whatever actors you want. 
> 
> English is not my first language.

A darkness sat on the pit of his stomach everytime Mozart came to him for assistance. 

He was too angry to see it, the first time. Cavalieri, his exquisite opera, the relief at the wife's discretion. When it finally sat on him that he was being successful in ruining Mozart, he was set to keep his plans in motion. Destruction was that enticing to a pitiful soul like him. 

They were on Salieri's studio, Mozart going on and on about the failure of Les Noces de Figaro. It was interesting, he didn't thought they were close enough to be having this conversation; and as though Salieri was finding himself to be good at manipulation, he felt he despised the man too much to fake stand that atrocious giggle, and accompanying personality.

And yet, here they were, he was briming with excitement, any time they were together. He supposed it was fitting, that the man stirred the same deep feelings that his music. 

Just the knowledge that he was doing everything he could to destroy him and he still came to him for help, none the wiser, made him dizzy, heavy with feelings he didn't really want to word, lest wording would make them more powerful, enough to overtake him. 

What was it about this man, that made him feel absolutely tethered, all senses in tune to capture every breath and sound produced, every gesture and sigh. 

He absolutely despised him. 

"I just don't understand why they didn't come. Yes, yes, I understand, the emperor. But regardless..."

Mozart was pouting like an infant, and the darkness down his stomach stirred, happy at his distress. And maybe because he was trying to ignore his guilt, he started to focus on Mozart's voice. It was like a flute, sweet and high-pitched; annoying only when he cackled, really. Even in anger, his voice retained a softness in quality. Salieri can only imagine his tenor voice singing the gentlest aria to his heroine after defeating all evil.

Salieri, of course, was a baritone. 

"What did you think about it, then?" Mozart asked, interrupting his thought process. "Did you like it at all?" 

Salieri's heart leaped, and while the true answer left his lips he felt like a true snake: "Marvelous."

Mozart eyes sparkled, with a mischief that could only mean danger. 

Mozart was cocky in a manner that only youth and talent allowed, and Salieri was put off by it on the same amount that he was completely charmed by it. _Marvelous_. 

"The best opera yet written!" Mozart shouted "I know!" 

Salieri was swooned, by such shameless display of pride, as deserving as it was. But Mozart was also charismatic, and he knew how to treat people like friends, to make them feel liked. He always asked for his opinion in a candid manner, as if he truly ~~lacked~~ wished praise for his work. 

There was a pull to do just that, to lavish the man in compliments; if only his own hurt pride didn't stop him. And then, when Salieri kindly pointed at how his operas could be better understood by the Viennese men, his pride couldn't stand the jab. 

"Perhaps you could teach me a lesson on that." 

When Mozart was rude, it was spontaneous and genuine. Salieri hated it, while admiring the precision. It was just so often that Mozart shot right at his insecurities, like a marksman. The little man knew what buttons to push when he wanted to put him on the spot, totally running Salieri's gravitas.

What other things could Mozart discover about him if he got closer. It was frightening, it felt strange. He didn't want to feel attacked by the composer anymore, he didn't want to feel seen, he didn't want his judgment. 

"At the risk of imposing. I would like you to see my new work. It would be an honor." 

He was not lying, because it would be such an honor. He was just a weasel, a rat, he just wanted... 

He wanted Mozart to look at him the exact same way he was looking at him right then, eyes serious and clear. The young man leaped; held Salieri by the shoulder, and talked about how excited he was to hear his music. 

Through the clothes, the touch carried heat. It wasn't the first time Mozart touched him; he was touchy in general. Being from Italy, he wasn't adversed to touching, not even among men. But Mozart was acting particularly kind today, and the casual shoulder touch was not so casual anymore when Mozart squeezed him. Salieri stared at the hand until Mozart finally retrieved it, a curious glint in his eyes and an easy smile. 

"The honor would be all mine."

_Oh, Mozart. You are so unkind._

"Grazie, Wolfgang." 

"Grazie le, signor Antonio."

Salieri knew he should sent Mozart goodbye. But Mozart kept on drinking, complaining about people's bad taste (he didn't need to pretend to agree because they were in complete synchrony about judging music), and telling funny stories about his son annoying his mother by talking backwards. 

It was endearing. The man also tried to touch him for what it felt like once every two minutes; eyes shining in inebriation. He spoke in a higher pitch, which wasn't annoying because Salieri was drunk as well. 

Eventually, he left. That tension on the pits of his stomach started to subdue, and a different kind of tension appeared. Expectation. Mozart was going to watch his new opera. It was a riveting feeling. 

* * *

Salieri didn't even really know why he expected something different. Obviously, God hated him that much. 

He didn't even expect that Mozart went rhapsodic about his play. He didn't have to make it his new favorite opera. He just wanted... some recognition. Back-handed compliments were the absolute worst. 

There was a party for him later and he was in the dreadest of moods. 

He took the ribbon off his hair, and it fell on his back. He looked at an old cross in his camerin, and he really should clean this space from these images. His relationship with God was... stranded. 

Sometimes he found himself at the beginning of a prayer and he'd have to contain his breath. He felt as if his thoughts and feelings didn't belong to him and he was propelled by a force, unnamed. He wished he could pray away the weight in his soul. 

But that never worked before. 

A knock startled him, he could only answer a soft, "come in."

This was, definitely, personally. God had truly had to hate him. There couldn't be any other reason why Mozart was in front of him, a sheepish smile on his infuriating face. 

"Mozart? I assumed you were off to a party by now." He tried to sound as neutral as his hurt pride let him.

Mozart looked at him, serious. He opened his mouth, paused, and then said, "Why are you here instead of being at your party... Salieri?" 

Salieri shrugged. "I'll be there, for a little while. I am tired, that's all." 

"Of course, it comes with the age." 

Salieri whipped his head towards him in anger, he was only six years older than him! But the young man didn't seem to mean anything by it, his face calm while he was playing with the cuff in his right sleeve. "I came here to tell you I didn't particularly like your opera."

It was like being thrown a bucket of cold water on his body. Shamed bubbled beneath Antonio's skin, and he was unsure in which way he could give an answer that didn't display his contempt for the man in plain view. Or perhaps, it was time to leave behind all pretenses. 

"But perhaps the libretto is what I don't like. Musically it was good; if frugal, as always. It fits? I don't know. I just didn't want you to get confused or anything. It's an excellent work, perhaps just not of my taste. One can't say that in public, right?"

Salieri was shocked at such honest review of his work, and he had to blink several times to feel his mind coming back to his senses. 

Mozart rolled his eyes. "I know. I sound like a reverse emperor or something. I'm mortified by it as well." He cackled, and that was what made Salieri snap out of his stupor, and laugh with Mozart as well. An awkward laugh, but not necessarily a fake one, just confused. 

"I was afraid you didn't like my work..." Salieri whispered, on a whim. He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. "I suppose it's true then." 

"Not at all! I also think I'm kinda upset at the emperor's praise. I just get kinda envious, but only because people apparently hate my work, and I don't understand it. But I guess that makes me sound like a rat?" He shook his head. "Please forgive me, it's nothing against you personally, and also I'm drunk." Mozart laughed, his eyes avoiding Salieri's. 

He just couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mozart? Envious of him? It made sense and it only made him bitter. The darkness rose as bilis and he could almost taste vomit at the back of his throat. Of course, it was only fair that he had a status Mozart wanted. But it's easy to trick the world like he did. Conmen were in every place, in every palace. He was fake, a phony, an impostor. Salieri could have status, but he couldn't have what Mozart had. 

"No need to apologize, Herr Mozart. Please retire so I can have a moment." 

Mozart furrowed his eyebrows. "Did I say something that offended you? I am striving for truthfulness. I thought... I thought you would appreciate that. I would appreciate truthfulness from you." 

If Mozart didn't leave the room on that exact second Salieri was going to murder him with his own two hands. 

"I do. My regards. Please leave." 

Mozart squinted. "Well, I see you are simply not in the humor to listen to me. Thanks for letting me know you don't appreciate my company, I won't bother you anymore." He slurred the last sentences, probably for the alcohol. 

He opened the door in a big gesture, and Salieri was indeed very very happy that he was leaving so he could have peace and, 

"Mozart, wait!"

Mozart closed the door. He turned back, his eyes wide, and his mouth forming a barely imperceptible pout. 

"You are right that I am not in the humor right now, for that I apologize. But please, bother me more. I actually quite like it, against all logic."

Perhaps he was drunk as well, ignoring the fact he hadn't drunk a droplet of alcohol that day. 

Mozart smiled. He licked his lips, preparing to say something, but he decided to say instead, "Alright, then. I'll leave. Enjoy your success, you deserve it." And he tried to get close but he decided against it when he saw Salieri's affected face. 

When he left the room, Salieri didn't know how to untagle the mess in his chest.

He prayed again. 

  
  
  


He was at the premier of Don Giovanni and it was the greatest opera yet written, as per usual with Mozart. His chest roared, being pulled toward every direction, taking in on the sublime music. Mozart always delivered perfection. 

A figure was burning behind his eyelids. The father. 

He was touched by the force and spirit of Leopold's ghost, a warmth in his thorax propelled him to protect Mozart, a desire to tend his wound. To no avail he tried to save the opera, as his mean deeds previous to the premiere were finally getting ahead of himself; there was nothing he could do to unconvince people about Mozart's orchestrated failings.

He didn't know what else to do after his good intentions failed, this time. They were barely friends, they hadn't spend time together after he asked him to leave. Mozart still smiled easily at him. Even two days later after the opera ultimately failed, he smiled at him on the palace's hallways, ever so sad and soft. 

Salieri didn't understand how the violents thoughts once had for the man started becoming caresses; how he felt instead lightness and protection.

There is still destruction in this terrible guilt for hurting Mozart in the past, and the distinct musical inferiority that just never goes away. 

Why did he even care? Mozart had a wife to care for him, and care she did. This was just not his business. 

Since it had been working to soothe him, he prayed. It was as if God was finally hurting the man like he always wanted him to be hurt. For He was unjust and unkind, but Salieri already knew that. We are truly made to his image. 

He asked for redemption and begged for Mozart's peace. 

* * *

He gave him anonymous tips sometimes. They didn't really make up for anything since Mozart was in so much debt, but he always looked so happy when he finally had money again. 

It was obvious that if he were to reconcile with Him, he'd have to put his life to his service. However, Salieri didn't feel appropriate for him to search the young man. It'd been a while and Mozart never tried to reach him. Maybe he was just that annoyed with him, and he didn't want to impose, but Mozart started treating him coldly and it was killing him inside. He was just formal, and yet-

He touched Mozart on the piano, missing his company and hoping for new music soon. 

It hurt, playing him, but in a good way, like penance. 

* * *

  
  


Mozart erupted his practice room once, loudly. The valet was trying to stop him but Salieri just sent him away and looked at Mozart. Perhaps he had another beef with a composer (He truly hoped the revival of Les Noces de Figaro would cheer him up). He had decided to help him by mostly staying out of his path; but also doing whatever good deed he saw fit. It wasn't enough, not really, he knew that; but it was a start. 

He felt a pull towards the musician, and he was trying to contain himself, to not scare him with his desires. 

"Salieri." Mozart said, an uncharacteristically subtone to his voice. "Could you please explain me what is wrong with you?" 

Salieri suddenly was reminded of being a young boy and being confused at moral disdain towards people with strange proclivities. There was a deep disgust in his father's tone that he was never able to understand. But after chastity, he didn't pay attention to any kind of relationship. How queer, for that thought to appear right then. But he looked more closely at Mozart, and he realized it was not that weird. His hands, still hovering the piano, were put on his lap. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, I want you to explain what kind of games you are playing, because frankly, I do not understand." 

Salieri felt his eyelids heavy, and he stood up to meet Mozart at eye level. The young man also got close, tilting his head towards him , fisted hands on each side of his body, and his left foot tapping on the floor. 

"I can assure you. I have not done such things. It is not in my best interest. Your claims confuse me." 

Mozart huffed. He looked at him, piercely; then rolled his eyes and went to serve himself some liquor. Salieri thought it was rude, but Mozart was upset and he was endeared to his acts so he didn't comment on it. 

"Oh, really?" He mocked, and he sipped a long slurp. "You know, Salieri, I can understand and even excuse some behaviors. Cattiness, for example. But a complete disregard of...? And then... games!" 

Salieri showed the palms of his hands. "I truly don't understand what you mean, Mozart." 

Mozart drank again. 

"I mean, the fact that you ignore me in private and yet now you are mine ardent defendant in public. I was getting really, really happy with your support, since I thought this meant that you finally saw me as an equal. And yet you ignore me. You don't invite me to events. You only treat me with the most annoying formality. Please explain, how is that not playing with me?" Mozart was slightly out of breath when he ended, and so Salieri. 

"I never meant... Mozart, I thought you didn't want-" 

"Oh, don't come at me with that bullshit. You were the one who threw me away from your camerin. It was your duty to contact me again."

Salieri's chest tightened, realizing his mistake. 

Mozart circled the opening of his glass with a finger. "I wouldn't usually care for that. Propriety. I've made the first move many times, even after rejection. Since you... the people like you... I like to spend time with them, but your kind is prone to do that pull and push bullshit."

Salieri blushed, massaging his own neck.

"Yeah," Mozart continued, "Be embarrassed." He bit his inner cheek. "I guess my wife is an exception to that, which is why we married." He smiled. 

Hearing him talk about his wife was not his idea of fun. But he didn't have time to dwell on it since Mozart kept going. 

"But this time, I waited. I thought there was perhaps some waiting to do. But I dislike it!" He pouted. 

"I'm sorry Mozart. I never believed... I didn't mean to hurt. I acted how I thought was best."

"Well, I regret to inform to your excellency that you is dumb." 

Salieri laughed through his nose and Mozart cackled. They both looked at each other's eyes for a while, enjoying the good spirit. 

Salieri went to serve himself some liquor too, but Mozart did it for him. Their fingers touched for a moment, and Salieri's senses tuned in to every movement the other man made. 

They sat like close friends on Salieri's couch. 

"I do remember that I told you to bother me more. That was... an invitation." 

"Hm. An ambiguous invitation. Do tell me, Salieri, do all Italians obfuscate, or is it just the italians musicians?" 

Salieri chuckled. "All the Italians, I am afraid. It is part of our charm." 

"Oh! And how charming are they. Even the grimmest of all of the italians doesn't lack his charm," he said, placing a hand on Salieri's shoulder. 

A friendly hand of course. The energy was so dizzying Salieri almost curled his toes. He didn't, he didn't even breath. He just smiled, and Mozart's smile was bigger, its brightness tugging at his heart. 

"It's so good to see you smiling, Antonio." He drank the last of his glass. "You should do it more often."

"Perhaps we can. Let's have dinner later." 

Mozart blinked. "Oh. I'd love that." He laughed, short, and Salieri smiled bigger at that."But I have a commitment." He retired his hand, noticing Salieri looking at it. "Tomorrow?" 

"Whenever is posibble to you... Mozart." 

"Aha, Antonio. But you are the one who's all fancy now, Kappelmaster. Congratulations. But please do let me know whenever it works for you." 

Salieri smiled, his hands a fist on his lap. He looked at them. "Tomorrow is fine, _Wolfgang_." 

Mozart grinned. They said their goodbyes, and Mozart left the room, and with him, Salieri's peace. 

His cheeks were hurting from smiling, and he wasn't sure how to parse the events.

  
  


They went to a fancy restaurant, and since Salieri was aware he was going to be the one to pay, he picked a good place without regard abouts Mozart's financial situation. There was good food and drinks, and a clavicord, which meant of course, that Mozart was acting like a buffoon for everyone else.

It annoyed him, still. For He to choose such an infantile man. But he was starting to see the charm.A child-like allure, the preservation of innocence and curiosity even after being a wed man. Perhaps, it fit. It was to be cherished. 

And as he didn't live up to him in the realm of music, he felt equally inadequate to deal with the man. Unfit. Undeserving. 

His heart felt tugged. Sometimes, it affected him so much a tear felt down his music sheet. He prayed harder. A pray asking to travel far away escaped his lips, and he regretted it immediately. He didn't want him to be apart, not that. 

He thought that perhaps his father was right, and this feeling was unpure, ungodly. It was strong and devious... with each dinner date, it was bigger and brighter. 

It wasn't often enough they went out together and Mozart was always kind and he was a desperate and thirsty man. 

They were truly impure thoughts. He wanted to kneel and beg, and it was unclear whether at God or at Mozart. He wondered if there was a difference. And it hurt so much he squirmed, he just wanted to listen to him play and make a fool of himself, forever. 

Why didn't he break his vow even after blocking God? Perhaps, he was always wishing for a reconciliation. 

Why did God give him these desires, why did He make everything so intense for him? To be consumed by envy, to be consumed by lust. Both devastating, more similar to each other than they ought. 

To destroy Mozart was his previous desire, and now he was being destroyed by him. 

* * *

Salieri invited him more often to his house. He had a nice dinner with all of the Mozarts once, since Mozart was a family man. He wondered if Mozart was so willing to make a mess of himself while playing with his child because his father didn't. Mozart didn't talk about him, but he could put two and two together, and he felt... happy, when he noticed that Mozart was trying to be better. 

He didn't know what to make of Frau Mozart. His relationship with her was reticent, to say the least, but overall polite. He wanted to apologize... and yet he didn't find it in him to bring more shame to her. She didn't seem to want that though, she was acting as if nothing had happened. She looked at him with intent, a threat; this was a last chance. 

He was jealous. He suppressed it. 

He was surprised when she went to see him one day, alone. He couldn't even speak, and the apology was about to drop but she stopped him. 

"I only came to give you a warning. Do not, I cannot stress this enough, do not hurt my husband. He's had enough of that. I appreciate your help with his work and it is because of your recent actions that I have decided to let the past go, and accept this... friendship. But if you hurt him, you will regret it." 

Then she left, with the entire Venus' Nips candy recipient. 

He snorted, and he promised to himself and God to never hurt Mozart again. That included not bothering him with these feelings he had, because Salieri's feelings were corrosive and will probably hurt him if he found out just the scope of it all. 

* * *

  
  


"Antonio, why did you never marry?” Mozart asked once, they were drinking and playing music at Salieri's.

Salieri sat at the piano with him, and touched a random tune. "I never really wanted to. I was... busy with music."

"Married with the art."

"Exactly."

"Oh, I could never... the married life is a blessing," Mozart smirked. 

Salieri's fingers were tapping at the border of the piano. "So I've heard," he answered, looking at his hand. 

"No, for real. Being a bachelor is great but women can be frisky when they are unwed. Most of them... well, would only go so far. Not your wife. Of course, I could never force myself on my Stanzy, that would be ruin. But, well, never had the need. Stanzy is always willing, if you understand what I mean." Wolfgang ended his explanation wiggling his eyebrows. 

Salieri touched a D minor, bored.

"You shouldn't speak about your wife with that language in public, Wolfgang," he said, looking him straight at the eyes. 

Mozart improvised a melody using the D minor as a start, and then switched to major chords. The end result sounded hopeful. 

"Come on, Antonio. We are not prudes. And you don't have to be jealous. After my wife and my sister, you are my favorite person."

Salieri's hands landed on the keys, and they both flinched at the noise. Mozart smiled, keenly aware that Salieri's cheeks were turning red.

"I-I'm not jealous!" He stuttered, the difficulty in his speech embarrassing him further. 

Mozart giggled, playing Salieri's section of Per La Recuperata di Ofelia, and Salieri felt he was going to die.

"You are a monster!" He placed his hands on top of Mozart to stop him from playing. 

They locked eyes. 

"Hmmmm...." He turned one hand to caress Salieri's hand with his thumb. "Do I scare you, Antonio?" 

The question sat heavy on the air. Salieri was absolutely mortified, he wanted to run away, and hide in a place where this fiend couldn't find him. But he didn't move. 

"Terrible so." 

Mozart clicked his tongue. "Please, do not," he whispered, holding Salieri's cheek with his hand. 

At the touch, Salieri closed his eyes. 

"It's easy for you to say."

"What makes you believe that?" His thumb was drawing circles in his jaw. 

"Because I am... and you are..." Salieri sighed, holding onto Mozart, their foreheads pressed together. 

"Oh, I am~ and you are~"

"You are mocking me. It pains me." 

Mozart exhaled onto his lips, and Salieri shuddered at that. 

"Not my intention, sir. I'm not mocking you. I just... As a matter of fact, I'm trying to woe you."

Salieri wanted to reply in many ways. _You are weird. It doesn't seem like it. You are still mocking me. Let me go._

Above all, Salieri wanted to run. Instead, he kissed him. 

Mozart gasped in delight, opening his mouth without a hint of shame. He hugged him tighter, pulling his hair lightly, messing with his perfectly groomed ponytail in the process. He pulled it a bit harder, dragging a filthy sound from the italian musician's mouth. 

They made-out for what it felt like hours. It was such a shame, that one needed breath, that Mozart had to break the kiss from time to time. He made-up by whispering sweet nothings on his ear. 

"I adore you, signor," he said, before sliding his hands on his neck, gripping at the base of his hair. "You are absolutely divine." 

"I will do such wicked things to you."

"I've been wanting to do this forever."

It all went directly to Salieri's core. He felt heavy, loved; he wanted more and he was so so close and before he could stop it he choked on a moan and spilled his seed in his breeches. 

"Oh," Mozart whispered, lickings his lips. 

"I am so," Salieri covered his face on his elbow, trying to hide himself from shame."I am sorry." 

"No, shh," Mozart cooed him, tacking his arms down and holding his face with both hands. 

Salieri avoided his eyes. 

"Look at me, Antonio," Mozart said, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. "Look at me."

Salieri looked at him, he felt his heartbeat pumping on his ears, he was breathless. 

"There it is. You have the most gorgeous eyes." 

Salieri felt warm, he didn't know his cheeks could burn so hotly. He smiled, doing all he could to not try to escape Mozart's eyes, as piercing and beautiful as they were, 

"Yours too. I love them."

Salieri hid himself on Mozart's chest, trying to control his breathing. Mozart pet his hair. 

"It is okay." 

"I am ashamed, and it's not okay." 

"C'mon. This has had to happen to you before, it's normal, especially if it's been a while. When was the last time you laid with a lover?" 

Salieri recoiled. "I... I've... It's been..."

Mozart was suspicious. "Salieri, what is it?"

He held him by the shoulders, and Salieri avoided his eyes again. "It's nothing."

"You know you can tell me anything. I don't care. What, you've only been with women before? Is that the problem?" He smirked. 

Salieri shook his head. 

"Mozart... You're the... I've never..." 

"... Not only with men?" he held his cheek, his other hand bringing Salieri's knuckles close to his lips. Mozart kissed his hand tenderly, making Salieri's eyes flutter. 

Salieri nodded, slowly. 

"But..." 

He tried to understand. Salieri was older than him, and attractive at that. But it did explain some things. "Oh God..."

"It is alright if you want nothing to do with me, I'll go to clean myself." 

Mozart tried to stop him, asking him to stay, but Salieri fled the scene. 

Mozart laughed softly, a pleased smile in his face. He was going to have so much fun then, if he was the one who was going to show Salieri the ropes of the whole ordeal...

* * *

  
  


Salieri changed himself in one state of complete automation. 

It was only when he ended, that he realized what happened and he was still reeling pieces of himself from a lake of new experiences. Talking with Mozart when he was all dirty was equally parts gross and arousing. Mozart pulling on his hair was repeating in his head in a loop, and he was so embarrassed at the sounds he had made... Only as a teenager he could relieve himself and be this aroused so shortly after. 

And he was so aroused. He wanted to undress and show himself in front of Mozart, to do anything he wanted with him. Just the memory of Mozart holding him and kissing him was making him feel dizzy. He wanted to kneel in front of him and worship the very soil his feet walked on. And he felt as if only Mozart's touch could save him from this inferno overtaking him. 

There went his vow. To give himself to the voice of God was fitting. He only had to ask. Refusing was out of the question. If this was a test of God, he was going to fail. He already felt guilty, since the thought of stopping before it happened was impossible. 

But was it even in his power to break his vow? Did Mozart still want him then? It was frankly embarrassing, to know so little about love. He never had to learn, not practically, not beyond poetry and music. 

Perhaps he was going to return to Mozart, and he would be gone. Mozart had experience. Even his wife had previous experience before the austrian stole her heart too. She had other experiences after marriage, as well, if _evidence_ could be used to point to that. What good could Salieri be? How could he please him? He wanted to try, he had never wanted anything more. 

Well, perhaps, Mozart's death was a thing he wanted more on the past.

This ordeal had to be God's punishment. It had to be. 

It better not be. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Mozart was waiting, pacing around in the room, aimlessly. Should he leave? He didn't want to. He wanted to stay and confront Salieri. It was actually very rude to leave him waiting like this, and he kinda wanted to point him this out. 

And they said he was the one without manners! 

But he wasn't going to mention any of this to him. He needed to reassure him that everything was fine. He loved him, although he wasn't going to tell him that just yet.

Honestly? The idea of having the italian all for himself was making him static. If Salieri just left himself go... they could make love in a way you write music about it. 

In fact, he had a tune drilling in his head already.

Salieri told his valet to not interrupt him for absolutely no reason, that the music room and his bedroom where to be left alone all times. The man was expressionless, and Salieri trusted him to not to pry on his personal business. 

From there, he could hear music that became clearer the closer he was. Already, a stir of envy awoke at the sounds. How could Mozart compose in a moment like this? Happiness also collided in him, at such charming and charismatic music; and slowly, the weight was lifted when he crossed eyes with Mozart, and the man smiled fondly at him. 

"Salieri! This is for you, my beautiful Apolo."

Salieri rolled his eyes, and he sat on the couch. 

"It's a beautiful piece."

Mozart ended it with a bang, a smirk on his lips. 

"... Do you feel alright?" Mozart asked, playing with his cuffs. 

Salieri stood up, ignoring his question in favor of refilling his drinks. Mozart followed him, hugging him from behind. Salieri closed his eyes. 

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." 

Salieri's palms were sweaty. Here it came, Mozart was going to make fun of him. He was going to be instigated, interrogated for all the details of his chastity. 

"Do you still want this? We don't need to... it's okay, you know. You... married with the music? Were you not interested?... Are you not interested?" He kissed his neck.

"I... I do want you."

"Sure?"

"I really desire you."

"Really?"

"... Isn't it obvious?"

Mozart laughed softly, turning Salieri around. 

"You keep yourself to you, dear. Can I read your attraction to me? I can. And yet, I still felt I was somewhat misreading you. Perhaps that is the problem? What do you feel? The only information I have is that of our mutual attraction... and I'm afraid that's not enough. For starters, you are not returning my hug right now; I feel unwanted."

Such a naive joke, accompanied with a pout, as if he were a child. His eyes were sparkling, and it still undid Salieri. He held him back. 

"I... I didn't want to do it, I guess. You are right, I was married to music."

"But you _do_ want me?"

Salieri said "yes," breathless. 

Mozart smiled. "Tonight?"

Salieri was immediately affected. He shivered, and blushed. He wanted to say yes, but he was too excited, all of his fantasies stuck in his mouth, desperate to leave. 

At his evident distress, Mozart giggled. "Perhaps we can take it slow?" he raised an eyebrow. He was playful, but kind. 

They looked at each other's eyes, and they felt special. 

"Whatever pace you'd like, Wolfgang, really." 

_Oh, Antonio was mean_ , Mozart thought. He was buzzing with the need to disarm Salieri with his own hands, to break him apart and play with him and then put him back together, the touch of his hands tattooed forever on his skin. Salieri was being careless, really, at being so dear with him. Mozart caressed his cheeks with his thumb, his left one lading on Antonio's lower lip. 

Salieri opened his mouth, because of course he did, and the look on his face went straight to Mozart's cock. 

The air felt heavy and sensual. Salieri was sheepish but pliant; and his eyes were dearing Mozart to do it, to put his fingers in his mouth, in him, anywhere. Mozart was so aroused at this, he took Salieri's neck with his right hand while he circled Salieri's mouth with his free index finger. 

Salieri shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the touch. To have such skilled hands touching his lips, making love to his mouth. He wanted to suck those fingers, but he couldn't move in Mozart's tight grip; he had never felt so turned on on his entire life. He opened his mouth more, sighing, waiting for Mozart to take pity on him. 

It was going up to Mozart's head. To have Salieri making this expression just with that. He entered two fingers in, pressing on his tongue, letting the fingers get wet. 

Salieri moaned, holding on to Mozart's hand on his neck tightly, never wanting him to leave. 

"Shit," Mozart moaned, guiding them both to sit on the sofa. Salieri was thankful for that, his legs were about to give in. 

Mozart made in and out movements, using the spit to wet Salieri's lips in the process. He sometimes put more pressure on Salieri's neck, coaxing him more delicious and filthy sounds. He could tell Salieri was rolling his eyes with pleasure, he was all fluttering eyelashes and whiny moans. It made Mozart's cock throb. 

Without daring to stop finger fucking his mouth, he whispered on his ear. 

"You are doing great. This is amazing. I can't wait to put my cock in your mouth instead, to make you choke on it as prettily as you are choking on my fingers." 

He added another finger, making Salieri's soul howl, choking on his own moaning. The italian dropped his hand to his crotch, holding his erection over his pants, trying to calm himself, to no avail. 

Wolfgang's erection too was starting to hurt. 

"Antonio." He licked his ear. "Antonio, please, I'm about to lose it. Take me with your hand or I'll have to take one of my hands off you to take care of myself." 

Salieri was almost out of it, but at the threat of stopping, he took the hand that was on top of him and put it on top of Mozart's pants.

 _Dear God_ , Salieri thought. _It's so huge and hot. I want to put it in my mouth._ He tried to untangle himself, but Mozart was frantic too and thought they were pleasure thrills, so he kept pushing his fingers in and out, tightening his grip on Salieri's neck. 

_Jesus Christ, our savior_. In another moment would be. He rubbed his last two brain cells to be able to drag Mozart by the hips to be closer to him, and then sneak one of his hands in his pants, the skin-on-skin contact making them both groan. 

Mozart was so close. Salieri's spit was everywhere, the italian virgin had the most decadent and whoorish look on his face, and he was rubbing and squeezing his cock just in the right way. 

He took his fingers out of him (who whined at the lost) to switch them for his mouth. His wet hand went to help Salieri in relieving his own dick. 

"I'm close! I-! Antonio!!" And he spilled on both hands. They looked at each other's eyes, heavy-lids. Breathless. They kissed, dragging every drop on cum out of the musician, with slow and careful movements. He sighed, happy.

Salieri cleaned all the spit from his face with his free hand. He was still so aroused. He licked his lips, pressing on his dick to calm it down. 

They both took their hands out of Mozart's underwear. 

_Post orgam, cum always looks so gross_ , Mozart thought. He felt a bit gross too, after dirtying his pants. He leaned back on the couch, enjoying the relaxation of his muscles, feeling satisfied and giddy. He cleaned his hand on his pants, smiling. Salieri was everything he had fantasized already, and they were just beginning. 

He was going to say something, but forgot about it the moment he realized how Salieri was looking at his own stained fingers. 

It wasn't that Salieri had never relieved himself in the almost four decades of living. That was absurd. Of course he had. But the realization that it was another man's cum, and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's cum at that. He licked his lips, wanting to taste it; but he was feeling suddenly shy, so he looked at Mozart for permission, only to find him transfixed, looking at him with so much passion that his breath hitched. 

"Do it," he commanded, inhaling deeply. He got closer and breathed on his neck. 

_Hmm._ It was salty and pungent; disgusting even, if he was being honest. And yet, he found himself licking it from his fingers like a thirsty man, imagining tasting it from the source. 

"Touch yourself."

Salieri squeezed himself on top of the fabric. 

"Not like that. Let your cock out. Let me see it." 

He opened his pants and took himself out, hissing at the cold air touching his sensitive skin. 

Mozart put a hand on Salieri's shoulder, the thumb pressing the base of his neck. He held him by the elbow of the arm which hand was on his mouth.

"Wet your hand and then touch yourself with it."

Salieri exhaled with difficulty. He wanted to be slow and sensual, or so he thought at the back of his head. He felt he was expected to be playful, to look at Mozart below fluttering eyelashes, to be fake co, with the tiniest of defiance. But he was desperate. He licked the palm of his hand three times, messily, eyes strongly closed because he felt he was going to come soon again if he kept looking at Mozart looking at him with so much desire. His toes curled when his wet hand touched him, he threw his face at Mozart's chest, wanting support while he caressed slowly, softly, trying to make himself last. Mozart grabbed both sides of his hips, tightly, obstructing his thrust movements; and Salieri mewled, licking and biting on Mozart's neck. 

_This is it_ , Mozart thought. He wanted to keep playing. Flashes of fantasies ran through his mind: to tie the man up and not let him cum for hours. He wanted to ask him to stop, make him strip naked in front of him, and he wanted to forbid him to touch himself, while Mozart fucked his mouth, make him choke on his dick, and then cum all over his face. 

He took Salieri off his chest to give him a wet and open french kiss. Salieri was starting to move faster, and one of his hands was trying to get a grip of Mozart. 

He broke apart, making Salieri whine, and whisper "no, please." Eyes glistening, the italian was completly out of it and Mozart's cock throbbed again to fully awake, even after coming a few minutes ago. 

He kneeled in between Salieri´s legs, caressing the man's knees; and before he could say something, he took Salieri's member in his left hand and enclosed it entirely in his mouth in one go. 

"Wolfgang, per favore, yess, ngh, fuck." He recoiled, and Mozart sucked him faster, trying to please him however he could. 

The thought of slowing down came to him. But then Salieri put a shy hand on his shoulder, leaning back and showing himself entirely, letting himself go, begging him to go faster in a weird italo-german mix. 

"Per fav-, yes, veloc-, more!"

And Wolfgang could only suck and squeeze and take a break away to put the hot balls in his mouth while tugging himself at every moan uttered by Salieri, and then lick the entire length while he felt saliva running through his chin and then pressing his wet lips on the tip to suck hard before putting it all in his mouth again to swallow the seed that was being shot directly at his throat. Salieri was pulling his hair and his own hair, and after a few tugs he followed Salieri, spilling his pants a second time that evening. 

His eyes felt so heavy, and he nuzzled on Salieri's softening dick. The only sad part was that this time he didn't come on any part of Salieri's body, which was absolutely tragic.

He pulled himself up to kiss Salieri, sharing his taste with him, making Salieri feel even more light-headed and dreamy. Mozart coaxed him back to earth with soft kisses and touches. On a whim, Salieri pulled them both to the carpet; and they kept on cuddling for a while, Salieri making circles with his fingers on Mozart's chest, and Mozart caressing and arranging Salieri's hair that was stuck on his forehead for the sweat. 

"Dio, that's..." 

Mozart moaned. " _Yes_. You are amazing." He kissed him on the mouth, strongly, without tongue. Salieri unlocked himself, enjoying the sound of their lips breaking apart. 

"I feel like I barely did anything, though." He grasped his arms."You... ah yes. You commanded _everything._ " 

Mozart bit his lips. "You are so nasty. I can't fucking believe you are a virgin, you are so nasty."

Salieri giggled, hiding on Mozart's neck.

"I want... but Jesus, I am so tired. I just want to lay here with you and sleep." 

Mozart hummed, circling his back. Frankly, they were pushing it the second time. They were no teenagers. Just the thought of leaving the floor to for up was making him innerly groan. He told Salieri all this and he agreed. 

"Next time, please, let me fuck you on a bed."

Salieri wanted to clarify he wasn't fucked this time, but that felt incorrect. 

He nodded, while thinking in wording. He wanted to be fucked, for sure, but something in him didn't want to be so crude. And yet he bit his lip. 

Mozart, sensing his despair, was even more soft in his touches.

And that's God, isn't it. The revolting and enticing mix of pleasure and pain, by the hand of His voice.

The darkness dissipated, if only for one moment, and he felt asleep on Mozart's shoulder. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it just ends, but idk. I'll revise and add if something else happens. 
> 
> Comments are very appreciated c:  
> My tumblr: solitairecoffee.


End file.
